Once Upon a Time
by TwistingKaleidoscope
Summary: In the hospital on her deathbed, a ninety-seven year old woman tells stories of spies and her past in a series of flashbacks.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note: **This will be a multi-chapter fic**. **I know this chapter presents a lot of questions, but they will be answered in time. Thanks for reading! Please review, and tell me what you think!

I would also like to thank my beta, **semisweetie50**, who has been great even though this beta reading thing is entirely new to me! Seriously, thank you so, so, so much! Especially for correcting my bad grammar!

**Summary: **In the hospital on her deathbed, a ninety-seven year old woman tells stories of spies and her past in a series of flashbacks.

**Pairing(s):**None have really been decided yet, but there will be multiple pairings.

* * *

**Once Upon a Time**

* * *

**Introduction**

"How's Mrs. Solomon?" A young nurse asks another, looking up from the magazine in her hands. She has short, choppy brown hair, and freckles that makeup could never cover. She sits at a receptionist's desk in the center of a hallway.

The other woman, an older woman with a blonde hair that comes from a box, sighs before replying, "The same as usual."

The younger woman frowns, closes her magazine, and puts it on a shelf under the semi-circle-shaped desk. "It's so sad."

The older woman shakes her head at the younger woman's naiveté. "It's Alzheimer's."

The brunette continues to lament, "She's ninety-seven years old. She's lived such a long life. Oh, the memories she must have made! And for what? To be robbed of them by her own body!"

"Penelope," the nurse places a hand on her young colleague's shoulder to silence and calm her. "Remember, the Alzheimer's isn't why she is here. It's not our job-"

"I know, Renée. She has pneumonia, but-"

"No, Penelope, you cannot do this to yourself. I know that it is very sad, but you cannot allow yourself to get this attached. It will kill you in this job. Mrs. Solomon is a very lovely woman, and I truly feel sorry for her and the hand that she has been dealt, however…" Renée trails off as a man walks up to her.

"Renée, I need you to help me with-" The man points to a room.

"Again?" she huffs. "All right, I'll be right there," she nods to him. Once he leaves them, she looks at Penelope. "I was just like you when I first became a nurse, but it's a horrible, horrible place to be because sometimes there are no happy endings. And Mrs. Solomon is a very sick woman, but she has lived a long life and has family who loves her. Let us just be happy for the life she has lived."

Penelope looks down but looks up a moment later, hopefully. "Has Ms. Ridley been in yet?"

"No, Ridley hasn't been in yet, but Penelope-"

The woman sighs, "I'll try to be impartial from now on."

Renée gives her a sad smile before leaving her.

* * *

"Mrs. Solomon, is there anything that I can get for you?" Penelope stands at the doorway of the room, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

The curtains and blinds are open, the way that the elderly woman prefers them, and it gives the room a sense of openness, but the sight is still pitiful. The room, although one of the largest on the hall, is still small, and the machines that surround the headboard of the bed make it smaller. A tiny woman lies on the bed with her small, fragile frame almost completely obscured from vision by the covers wrapped around her.

The woman struggles to roll over. "No, no, no," Penelope murmurs. "Don't move. I was just wondering if you needed anything."

The woman coughs harshly, causing her entire body to shake violently. Penelope moves to stand at the foot of the bed. She almost gasps at the sight of the woman. The woman has been pale since she was brought in the week before, but her skin seems almost translucent in the sunlight. Her cheekbones are sunken in, and the shadows under her eyes make her look as if she was already dead. At the pathetic sight, Penelope frowns.

This time, instead of being confused about her surroundings, as Penelope had seen her several times, Mrs. Solomon appears lucid. Mrs. Solomon smiles at her, her wrinkled skin stretched in what seemed to be a painful way across her cheekbones. Seeing this, Penelope winces.

"Oh, I'm fine. Thank you for asking," The woman finally answers in a throaty voice. "But tell me just one thing: what did you just call me, dear?" She asks with a raised eyebrow, moving her head to face Penelope.

Penelope tilts her head. Her eyebrows knit together. "Um," she pauses for a moment, thinking back, "Mrs. Solomon."

The woman bursts into laughter for a few minutes before breaking off and coughing. "Why would you call me that?" She asks, finally, after composing herself.

"Because," Penelope frowns, "It's your name."

The woman laughs again. "That is most certainly not my name!" She exclaims and adds after a moment, "I don't even think I dared to dream of it before."

"But Mrs.-"

The woman ignores her, stuck in her own world. "There was that one time," she ponders, "But that was a very, very long time ago." She smiles, perhaps at a memory.

Penelope murmurs, "Do you know where you are?" Penelope thinks she sees her patient roll her eyes, but after a moment, she realizes that she must have imagined it.

"Of course I do!" Mrs. Solomon, or whoever she thinks to believe herself to be, sounds almost outraged. "That damned Alzheimer's hasn't robbed me of every lucid thought no matter what you people and my daughter choose to believe!"

"I'm very sorry." Penelope is quick to backtrack. "Since you couldn't remember your name, I thought that you were maybe having one of your episodes."

The older woman shakes her head rapidly from side to side, which does nothing but cause her to cough again. She takes a heavy, ragged breath after that. "I do remember who I am. I am completely lucid, thank you very much."

"I'm sorry, ma'am."

Mrs. Solomon nods curtly. "What is your name?"

The young brunette stares at the ground as she murmurs quietly, "Penelope."

"You must speak louder. My ears are not at all as they used to be."

Penelope introduces herself again.

"Well, Penelope, please come help me sit up better." The woman is slouched at an awkward angle.

"Of course," she rushes to help adjust the bed's settings and the woman's position.

"Thank you very much," Mrs. Solomon tells her as she moves back to the foot of the bed. The woman coughs again. "That is the worst thing about aging: losing your independence."

"I'm so-"

"Don't you apologize," Mrs. Solomon chastises before she can even get the words out of her mouth. "I'm almost ninety-eight years old. I've lived a wonderful life. Don't apologize. It's to be expected."

The nurse nods and looks at the door. "Are you sure you don't need anything, Mrs. Solomon?"

The woman in question shakes her head. "I am fine, thank you. I understand that you must go. My daughter should be here soon, anyway."

Penelope nods again. "She always comes at six."

"Yes, yes, she does, even though I tell her how unnecessary it is." Mrs. Solomon smiles, "She's stubborn, like her father."

Penelope smiles.

"You need to go, don't you?" She asks. "Well, before you do, allow me to introduce myself. My real self. It's about time everyone knows, anyway."

The nurse meets her eyes, a bit confused. "Ma'am?"

The old woman smiles again, revealing a set of pearly white teeth, happy to learn that she could still surprise people. "My name is Cameron. Cameron Morgan."

Penelope blinks in confusion, and Cameron's smile widens.

"It's wonderful to meet you, Penelope." The nurse turns to walk out the door. "And Penelope?" Mrs. Solomon, or Cameron Morgan, or whoever she is adds after a moment. "Send my daughter in immediately once she arrives please. Tell her we have a lot to discuss."


	2. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **Thanks for the reviews, favorites, and subscriptions! To answer some of you reviewers, Mrs. Solomon was just an alias she was using when she checked herself into the hospital. As they say, "Some old habits die hard." I have an idea in mind as to why, but unless there's a point in which it can be mentioned, the explanation behind it will not come up.

I have rewritten this chapter about three times. The first copy I scrapped because I hated it and the way I had written Cammie's daughter. I'm not sure about this version. I would have liked to have it about 700 words, but I felt like that wasn't long enough, so I rewrote it, and this version has about 1,700 words, so…

Please review, and tell me what you think about this. If you have any pairings that you would like to see, tell me because I still haven't decided on Cammie's children's father. Or on anything else, really. If you have anything else that you think I need to work with in my writing or characters or just have any ideas, I would love to hear them. Thanks!

Unbeta'd, so definitely sorry in advance.

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**Once Upon a Time  
**

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**Chapter One:**

"Ridley," Cameron calls to a younger woman once she notices her lingering at the door. She sits up, with only a slight struggle, and coughs. "You're late." The younger woman examines her for a moment, frowns, and opens her mouth, possibly to apologize, when Cameron smiles.

Ridley quickly returns the smile. "I see you're feeling better, Mom." She slowly enters the room, cautiously eyeing the machines connected to her mother. Her face, however, stays clear, perfectly controlled. She walks to one of the chairs beside the bed and slides it closer.

"Yes," Cameron says with a cough. She breathes deeply, only to cough again, and shrugs, tilting her head. "A little, I suppose."

Her daughter smiles as she tucks a piece of brown hair behind her ear. Cameron examines her daughter as she sits down. In her early sixties now, wrinkles cover the once smooth skin; however, she still doesn't look her age. She is well made up, with light brown hair, a color that comes from monthly salon appointments, cut down to her shoulders. Finally, shifting in her seat, she replies, "Anything's an improvement."

Cameron looks out the window, at the sun high in the sky above a city of skyscrapers. She blinks, once, twice. She turns her head back to look at the brunette beside her. "I have a story to tell you." She begins with a small sense of weariness. "How long do you plan to stay tonight?"

Ridley smiles, showing off a set of pearly white teeth, "I'll stay as long as you would like me to." She pats her mother's hand. "Penelope did say that you had something to tell me."

Cameron runs a hand through her thinning white hair and grimaces at the wires that pull uncomfortably at her skin. She coughs. "We'll talk about that later. First, my story."

Ridley nods and glances at the time on her phone before leaning back against her chair. "Okay, Mom," she smiles, comfortably. "Tell me a story."

"Once upon a time," Cameron begins, "There was an invisible girl, who wanted to be anything but that." She looks out the window with a faint smile. "Let's call her 'Chameleon.'"

She pauses for a moment to let that sink in while cautiously examining her daughter, who, in turn, was doing exactly the same to her. "Attending a school that teaches advanced encryption and fourteen different languages gives a person only one sensible career choice, no matter what that school might say. The people attending these schools have been predestined for the life in some genetic way, whether blessed with genius-level intelligence or parented by a pair themselves. The Chameleon was the latter one of these."

Cameron pauses and looks at her daughter for a long moment. "Do you know what kind of career I am talking about?"

Her daughter meets her eyes. Curiosity shines within the younger woman's eyes, but she dares not to ask a single question, perhaps terrified that this was a new type of episode. "A spy," the brunette replies, finally.

"Yes, a spy," Cameron murmurs, making a face as she said the word as if it left a taste in her mouth. "The Chameleon was a spy. Raised by two spies herself, with her father disappearing on a mission during her childhood, she certainly did not have a normal life." The woman brushes a strand of white hair out of her face and frowns, "And at fourteen, normal is all a girl wants to be."

After pausing with a cough, Cameron continues, "However, she had known for years that she was going to be a spy, from the moment when she, at nine years old, had successfully tailed her father through a mall to find out what kind of Christmas present she was getting."

When her mother coughs again, heavily, Ridley breaks her silence. "Would you like some water, Mom? There's a vending machine down the hall."

Cameron shakes her head and picks up a small, plastic cup from the table attached to her bed, "I have some." She drinks it quickly, and as she goes to place it back down, her arm shakes, sloshing some of the water out of the cup. Ridley pretends not the notice, but Cameron stares and runs her aged fingers, bent slightly from arthritis, over the stain it had made on her blanket. She doesn't frown but looks sad.

Ridley places her hand over her mothers and opens her mouth, but Cameron speaks before she can. "The Chameleon was a girl who knew too much without truly knowing anything. In her sophomore year, she exposed the truth about her school to this fifteen year old boy she had a crush on, who ruined her semester exam and caused her to be forced to take a polygraph given by the CIA."

Cameron looks out the window in a daze, smiling, and Ridley asks, "Mom, are you feeling okay?"

The white-haired woman turns back to her daughter and says, "I'm in my right mind, Ridley. No need to worry."

Ridley sighs and looks at her hands, "Why are you telling me about this girl, then?"

Cameron grins, "I'll get to that." She coughs and glances at the water before continuing, "That sophomore semester changed her entire life. In that semester, she met two people, who would become two of the most important people in her life, and changed the course of her life forever."

Ridley smiles and nods her head, listening without truly hearing her words. "Who is this girl, Mom?"

Cameron smiles and reaches for her hand. "Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about, Ridley." Ridley raises an eyebrow. "How old are you now?" She changes the subject in a blink.

Ridley examines her for a moment before answering, "Mom, I'm sixty-one."

Cameron nods with a sigh. "Old enough, I believe."

The brunette tilts her head, "Old enough for what?"

The older woman coughs again, her entire form shaking. "Old enough to know the truth," She answers in between coughs.

"Mom," Ridley huffs, exasperated, "What are you talking about?"

Cameron looks up at her hopefully with a small smile, "I'm talking about my past, Ridley. I think that you should be able to handle the truth. I think that you _should_ know the truth."

"Mom?"

"Under my bed, there is a false floor and under that false floor is a box. Tomorrow, when you visit, can you please bring that box to me?"

"You have a false floor under your bed?" Ridley questions, shocked.

"Yes, I do." Cameron nods calmly.

"Mom, could you explain? _Please_?" The brunette squeaks.

"The girl in that story was me, Ridley, and that box will prove everything. It's finally time that you know the truth," She coughs, "Before it's too late."

"Mom, you weren't a spy. Before I was born, you worked in an office in Washington, D.C. Remember?"

"The box will be the proof, and I will tell you the story tomorrow. The entire story. About your father, your grandparents, and your aunts."

"_Wait_, Dad was a spy, too? And _Grandma?!_" Ridley exclaims, standing. She moves to the foot of the bed and begins to pace.

"Ridley, it's getting late now. I promise I will explain everything in time, but I will need that box. My memory, after all, isn't as good as it used to be."

"Mom-"

Cameron sighs, "Yes, Ridley, your father, your grandparents, and aunts were all spies once upon a time."

Ridley freezes, "Mom-"

"This doesn't change anything, dear. The stories that you have heard growing up are all the same, but some things have just been…" She trails off for a moment. "Left out. Your grandmother was a headmistress, but Gallagher was not a school for the rich and privileged. Everyone, everything in the world I was raised in had a cover, was backed by hundreds of elaborate lies. Your father and I didn't want you and your siblings to be raised in that kind of life. Those secrets never led to anything good."

"And yet you've kept this _huge _secret from me for sixty-one years!" Ridley exclaims, raking her fingers through her brown locks.

Cameron coughs and yawns, "It's late. You need to be getting home, and I'm tired."

"You can't just drop this on me, Mom, and ask me to leave!"

Cameron sighs and looks down at her lap. "I've prepared a lifetime for this moment, but I still didn't say the right words." The words are meant for herself. She looks up shortly and tries to meet her daughter's eyes. "Nothing is different, truly, Ridley. You've just been given a little more insight into the lives of your family."

Ridley nods. She thinks it over for a few, long minutes. "You're right. I could have a brother that you've never told me about before." She pauses for a moment after that thought and looks up quickly. "I don't have one of those, do I?"

Her mother smiles, "No." She tilts her head to the side thoughtfully. "At least not mine."

"Mom!" Ridley barks out a laugh. She moves back to her mother's side. She brushes her hair from her forehead and kisses her. "Love you, Mom."

Cameron smiles, "You're not-"

Ridley gathers her purse, "I'm fine. I think. Should I call Matt tomorrow and see if he can come? Reese is out-of-town, but-"

"Don't bother either of them." She shakes her head. "You can tell them later, if you want to."

"Are you sure?" She asks, and her mother nods in response. "Good night." She smiles.

"Good night, Rid. Be safe. I love you." Cameron returns her smile and watches as her daughter leaves, turning off the light as she goes. Lying down, she yawns. She shifts for a few moments to get comfortable before quickly going to sleep, dreaming of spies and the past.


End file.
